The year that never was
by bethanie-xo
Summary: Writin from Mycrofts point of view from his year on board the Valient during the year that never was. Got the storyline from she let me use it and now she's helping me beta it and coming up with new ideas,
1. Chapter 1

Mycroft sat on the chair, staring out of the window of the big ship, with his hands below his head in the usual Holmes prayer position. He looked around the room, it was empty for now but in an hour it would be filled with the world's most prestigious politicians, and one thing that he never expected.

Aliens.

Yes, in mere hours aliens will be welcomed to Earth and Mycroft could do nothing. He couldn't arrest the culprit, what's the point in arresting the prime minister when he had nearly everyone backing him? He couldn't stop the aliens. He could only try to save those he loved from the onslaught that was sure to come.

One good thing about being high up in the British Government was the fact that he was guaranteed a safe place where no-one could hurt him, except the prime minister, but he always claimed that he had reason. One bad thing was that no-one else was there. He missed his mother, she wasn't particularly strong and would probably be in the first lot to go. Mycroft found it hard to even think about her death so he skipped onto the next person he cared for. Okay, so he never acted fond of his younger brother but, truth was, he missed him.

Finally, he thought of the only person in the world that he truly wanted on board with him. Greg. Greg Lestrade.

He shut his eyes tight and held his breathing steady, he didn't know how long he sat there but when he heard the door open and he opened his own eyes the dark of the morning had turned to a bright sunny day.

"Mycroft! Up you get, big day today, lots to do." Mycroft heard the voice and immediately did an intake of breath before turning around and smiling at the man.

"Yes, Mr. Saxon. All the rooms are ready and all you need to do is go to get your clothes on, everything is sorted."

The man walked over to Mycroft, "Good."

They shook hands and the man began to turn away but Mycroft cleared his throat and held onto the prime ministers arm. "Are you sure there isn't room for one more on the Valient, sir? He would stay with me in my room and he would honestly be of no bother."

"I've already said, no. We have very important guests and a police man on board would give the completely wrong idea." He pulled his hand away and began to walk off again.

"Or the right idea, that you care about their safety and are putting in extra precautions."

"But I don't care about their safety." He laughed and the door to the elevator opened.

Harold Saxon stepped in and the doors closed with Mycroft stood there, the ship would go up in ten minutes and he could do nothing to get Greg on there with him.

He decided to focus on his mother, she would be the first one he called, then Sherlock, or John if he got no answer, Sherlock would never answer, even during the end of the world.

At that moment Mycroft jumped as his phone began to ring, he'd managed to make sure it didn't pick up the Archangel network, the prime minister could hear nothing of his calls.

incoming call: Martha Jones. |accept|decline|

"Martha, any news?" he said quickly as he looked around the room, making sure no-one was there with him.

"Yes, the Doctor's here and the president is getting onto the ship as we speak. We'll be there too, of course." Her voice came back and it sounded as if she was running.

"Martha, if you manage to get out then call me and I can help you." Mycroft commands, if she got out, which would happen if the Doctor got his way, then he would help her, if she found Sherlock and John, maybe even Greg.

"Yep, okay. Look, we have to go, we'll see you in a bit, and you hopefully won't see us, if everything goes to plan." The end of the phone went dead and Mycroft frowned, he needed to talk to the Doctor, not to Martha.

"Departure in T minus 10 minutes." The voice on the intercom said, "Will all executive staff and politicians make their way to the main flight deck to record the interviews and start the live countdown to the Toclafane."

Mycrofts grip tightened on his phone but he held on as he welcomed old friends to the room, he'd helped most of them get out of more than one devilish scandal and he held onto that as he welcomed them, held onto the fact that they all knew him and he wasn't truly alone.

But he was, Greg wasn't there. He was at home, in the house they shared together, watching TV and sipping from coffee.

Hours later, that's when it finally happened, when Harold Saxon finally stood up and welcomed the Toclafane.

Mycroft wasn't really listening, he sat there twiddling his thumbs until 6 words pulled him away from his own thoughts.

"Remove one tenth of the population!" He wanted to say something, but what could he. Greg would be in that tenth, he knew it when Harold gave him a wide grin, as if to say 'I have defeated you, now work for me.' He decided that later, when he was ringing people, he would leave Greg off the list, he couldn't bear to hear his answer phone because that would confirm it and that was the last thing he wanted.

He stood up from his seat and watched the slaughter unfold, he looked out of the window and down at planet Earth, he could almost hear the screams of everyone down there, he could almost feel the shivers run down his spine, but that was a sign of weakness, he held it back and stalked out of the room.

When he got out of the room he almost ran to his room, he had a room to himself and it was like a hotel room, only clean, and not nearly as grand as he was used to. "Mother? Pick up, come on, pick up!" He shouted down the phone as it rung, and rung. 8 times he did this before finally giving up. _She's gone_, he thought to himself. _Who next? _

"Sherlock? Are you okay? Is John? And Mrs Hudson are they all okay?" Sherlock picked up, this was new, something was wrong. He held the phone so tight to his ear that he feared he may dent his own head, as he listened for a reply.

It came out choked, and slightly delayed, but he spoke, all the same. "They killed him, Myc. They killed John."


	2. Chapter 2

It was the use of the word 'Myc' that really got him to listen. Sherlock hadn't used that name since they were kids, and even then, he only used it when he really needed his brother.

"I'm sorry." Was all he could say. He could imagine Sherlock sitting there with Johns body, making sure no more harm came to him. "And Mrs Hudson?"

"Gone."

He kept listening to Sherlock breathing on the other side of the phone. It was harsh and strangled, like he was trying hard to continue. He remembered something he'd told his brother once, _All lives end, all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage. _And now, listening to Sherlock, knowing how much his brother was hurting honestly made him believe that statement. He held onto this and told Sherlock he had to go.

"Myc, come back, I need you."

"I can't." Was his simple reply before hanging up the phone and lying down on the bed. His phone went off again but it was Sherlock so he ignored it. He had no idea what was going on in the main flight deck but he felt like he needed to be there so he got up and slowly walked back to the room.

All his thoughts were concentrated on thinking about what state everyone would be in, it was mainly to stop him thinking about Greg and it was working, for now. The escalator doors opened and he saw Martha Jones and her family all there, Martha was kneeling beside what could only be described as an old man, but when he moved Mycroft recognised the familiar movements. He caught Captain Jacks eyes and he nodded once, it was the Doctor on the floor.

At that moment Martha disappeared and Harold Saxon stood at the front of the room, frowning.

I'm not quite sure what happened then, everything went into fast forward and the prime minister kept on throwing me glances and looks, telling me that he'd beaten me, that I had nothing left to fight for so why fight it?

That night when I got to my room and was sat on the bed staring out into the clouds my phone went of again, it wasn't Sherlock, it was Martha.

"Okay, where will he be?" she asked the second after Mycroft answered.

"221b Baker Street. He will be in a state, John was in the first 10%"

"We can get him back, you know."

"Who, John?" Mycroft asked, curiosity raging in his voice, "How? Tell him that and he'll be sure to help."

"It's only a chance, but the Doctor told me what I can do to make everything that happens go back to how it was before, no Toclafane and no deaths. Everyone that dies won't happen, time will be reversed and everyone will live."

_Greg. _That was his initial thought. He breathed deeply, "Everyone?" he said quietly, he needed to confirm it, he needed to make sure that he could save Greg's life.

"Everyone." She confirmed, "Look, I'm outside Baker Street now, I have to go."

"Tell him I'm sorry about earlier, he'll know what I mean."

"I will, I'll text you later with the details of the plan, the Doctor told me how I can do it as well so I can get us out of this. Whoever you lost will come back." And the line went dead.

Mycroft sat on his bed thinking through what was just said, so Martha knew that he'd lost someone, but Martha also knew how to get him back. But was he definitely dead? Mycroft didn't know for sure, he hadn't contacted him after all.

He would have to check, he would have to check everyone. He sent out a mass text saying 'Are you alive' and immediately got replies from quite a few people, Anthea was alive, as were Greg's kids. A few of the high British Government people who weren't on the Valiant were alive but he wasn't too fussed about them.

He didn't text the person he was fussed about, how could he? To have no reply would kill him, utterly destroy whatever will to live he had left.

~~~Mycrofts POV~~~

I know what Martha said, she said we can get Greg back, she said we can get them all back, John, Mother, everyone. But is it worth it? We could all die as well and Harold would still be here wrecking havoc.

Someone had to keep him under control and I have him right where I want him, but if I really have him there then I should be able to control him whilst working with Martha.

I just want Greg back.

God, the world looks so beautiful from my window, I wish I was there. I wish I could feel the wind on my face, I wish I could stand there and help, I want to find Greg and tell his lifeless body that it will be okay. I wish I could look after his kids, I wish I was there.

But I can almost hear the screams from here. The distraught wails as a mother has lost her kids or children have become orphans. Or sibling being ripped apart because of one man's evil, sadistic plan.

I can help though. I can control them from here and keep up contact with Martha, I am the only one that wants freedom on this ship, the others are just glad to be alive.

I wonder if they lost anyone in the slaughter. I wonder if I can persuade some of them to help me.

Probably not, I'll have to do this on my own.

~~~Mycrofts POV over~~~

Mycroft went through his contacts and finally he mustered up the courage to call Greg.

**Ring-Ring  
Ring-Ring  
Ring-Ring  
Ring-Ring  
Ring-Ring  
"Hello?" there was a pause, "Ahh, I've got you! I'm not able to answer my phone at the minute, leave a message if it's important. And if this is Sherlock to have a moan at me then please just hang up, Anderson didn't mean to think and he's very sorry."**

"Fuck." Mycroft exhaled as he heard the familiar answer phone. Greg was gone, another person who he wouldn't see again. Then he thought about what Martha said and he decided to help, after all what's the worst that can happen?


	3. Chapter 3

"Mycroft, it's been six months, at least three months since you've contacted us with information, this is getting ridiculous. We cannot find out everything." Martha's strained whisper came through the phone and Mycroft sat on the edge of his bed as he listened. His head was in his hands and he thought as he pinched the bridge his nose.

"I know, Martha. I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do." Mycroft admitted. He heard gunshots on the other side of the phone and Sherlock's voice, rough and hard as every shouting 'get down, stay under cover!'

"How's Leo? And Tish and mum and dad?" Martha asked.

"They're good. I told you, I'm protecting them for you. And Captain Jack is still alive but of course you know that. He's coping, I think he's actually rather enjoying the heat, especially with the male guards." Mycroft chuckled dryly.

"And..." Martha hesitated, "The Doctor?" she asked after a deep breath, Mycroft could hear the pain in his voice, the strain showed that was the first question she'd wanted to ask.

"He's... alive. Harold, the Master, whatever you wish to call him, hasn't aged him anymore but he's getting increasingly bored."

"Tell him to hang in there."

"I will, put Sherlock on?" Mycroft requested, he swapped hands and put the phone to his left ear, grabbing a pencil with his right hand to write some things down on the paper.

"Mycroft." Sherlock said. His voice too was strained, but not like Martha's. Martha had never seen this level of destruction, never seen this much hatred in London, but these were Sherlock's streets, Sherlock's London was filled with hatred. The strain put on his voice, Mycroft assumed, was from Johns death. Six months and he still thought of Greg every day, Sherlock couldn't get over John in just six months, especially considering how everywhere he went he saw the Toclafane, the monsters that brutally slaughtered John. Every day Sherlock saw constant reminders of John's death and he hated it, he needed John.

"Sherlock. Tell me exactly who we know that is dead." Mycroft demands.

"Do we have to do this now?" **Bang,** a gunshot. "I'm in the middle of something." Mycroft could tell there was an annoyed frown on Sherlock's lips but he ignored the tone.

"Yes, we do. I have an idea, just tell me."

"Okay. The obvious..." he hesitated, "John, Mother, Mrs. Hudson. Molly left to go see her family just before everything happened and I haven't heard from her but the phone lines went dead so we can never know." Sherlock said quickly. "Is that it?"

"Yes. But, I didn't hear Greg's name, Sherlock. He's dead." Mycroft said quietly. _Don't give me hope to have it ripped down. Please, Sherlock, don't. _

"No he's not. He's fighting in the resistance. Like Martha and I. But he's playing it in a completely different way, he's not covering his tracks, he's just shooting whoever hurts anyone that threatens his life now." Sherlock said; a bored tone in his voice.

Mycroft didn't know what to say. "He's... Alive?" he almost choked as he said the words, his mind running over the words.

_He's fighting in the resistance. He's fighting. Fighting. Not fought. He's alive and he's helping and he's breathing. _

"Yes, of course he is. Now, can I go? We are in the middle of something." Sherlock said again. Another gunshot from behind them.

"Yes, be careful."

"Always." Sherlock said before the line went dead.

_Alive. Greg is alive. My Greg is alive, fighting. _Mycroft leaned down on the bed, his hands beneath his head. There was something worth fighting for, worth everything he had.

A light smirk appeared on his face and he pulled his laptop up, he had access to some of the only working CCTV cameras in Britain, and turned it on. It whirred to life slowly and then started up. The videos came up and he immediately did a search for Greg, finding out where he was spotted last and when.

17th May, near their old home, in their old home in fact. He had his mobile gripped to his ear and he was talking fast so Mycroft knew he was safe, even if he did have a variety of scars ranging out on his face.

He looked at the screen, at his love, and he pulled his phone to his side.

**Ring-Ring  
Ring-Ring  
Ring-Ring**

"Hello?" there was a pause and Mycroft waited for the 'Ahh, I've got you' but it never came. "Hello?" Greg repeated.

"Greg." Mycroft said quietly. God his voice sounded so broken, so empty.

"Mycroft?" Greg's voice was soft, and compared to the harsh 'hello' that Mycroft had been greeted with this was much better.

"Yes." Mycroft thought about the months he'd spent thinking Greg was dead. "I called you, when it first happened. But I got answer phone. I assumed you were dead."

"Mycroft. I didn't know whether it was safe to call you, that's why I didn't. I thought that we'd both be caught. God, I've missed your voice. Is it safe to talk? To ring each other now? Please tell me it is now." Greg said quietly, his eyes began watering and Mycroft wanted nothing more than to reach through the phone and take hold of Greg, hold him close and just keep him close. "Myc, I need you. Please say it's safe."

"It is. I want you to be here, Greg. But you weren't allowed. I wanted you on board with me."

"Mycroft, as Sherlock would word it, that is far too boring. Now you've seen more than just a snippet of the London that Sherlock and I work in with the explosions and deaths and the constant trouble of never knowing is someone is dead or alive."

"I love you, you know that right? And you know that I would- will do anything to keep you safe no. Anything." Mycroft said steadily. He heard a slight jump of breath from the other side of the phone, "Greg?"

There was no reply and Mycroft was suddenly worried.

"Greg?" He repeated, almost shouting down the phone.

"They got me Myc, they found me."


End file.
